


in her place

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Canon Typical Mage Hatred, Creampie, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, Forced impreg, Gang Rape, Lesbophobia, Slurs, Vomit Mention, a hint of revenge, corrective rape, just wanted to write some really awful irredemable whump come and get it, violent rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Some of the guards have heard Trevelyan doesn't pay much mind to men. They intend to change that.
Relationships: Female Trevelyan/Original Templar Character(s) (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	in her place

**Author's Note:**

> author is a lesbian, if that helps deter you from any concerned comments
> 
> this is purely for rape fantasy smut with a tinge of rape revenge. come get y'all juice.

There's a rumor going around some of the conscripted stationed at Skyhold. Talk of what the Inquisitor likes. What she don't. 

"Heard she doesn't like men at all," says one of the Captains, used to be Knight-Captain, til they all got stripped of those sorry titles just to work for some mage who's been _gifted_ or whatever. "Won't fuck 'em. Makes eyes at Montilyet all the time."

"Won't fuck 'em," scoffs another captain, who used to live at Ostwick before all this shit started. "She ain't ever had a man who could satisfy her, all that means."

Laughter and agreement echo throughout the mess hall. 

"Someone oughta satisfy the bitch," a younger man murmurs, and he's met with claps on the back, and more laughter, and someone saying _bet even you could give her a good fucking if you tried_. 

The mess hall settles, but the hurried looks at each other keep building: are you in? Are you in? Are you?

\---

Trevelyan is drunk. She's pleasantly drunk, head-buzzing drunk. She hums high in her chest as she walks back from the inn towards the stairs, laughing as she trips on the bottom step. Things are rarely so quiet that she's allowed to be this drunk, but they have a few days until the next mission and she's enjoying herself, she's _unclenching_ , as Sera says.

She laughs again. It feels good to laugh, high and bubbly. 

"Herald," she hears. It's one of her guards, the one always outside her room. "Need help there, Madam Trevelyan?"

He extends a hand. She wobbles when she tries to step past it, so he catches her, chuckling in a low tone that she can feel in her chest.

"Let's get you comfy, your grace," he says, and something's in the voice, but she can't quite place it. 

"Thank you," she says. She lets her eyes drift close; they're heavy as he helps her take the steps. One at a time, up, up -- no. Down. They're going down? 

"That's not my room," she tells him, helpfully. 

He laughs. "No," he says. "But this will be better for you."

She glances around. They're -- she doesn't recognize this place. A basement of Skyhold she hasn't explored, maybe? A strange corridor? There's two more guards ahead, and a straw pallett hidden among barrels of wine. This isn't her room. 

"What is this?" she slurs, but her mouth won't work anymore.

"Gonna show you how good it can be," she thinks one of them says, but the world is melting around her. 

She's on her back. Straw under her. She's trying to sit up; someone's grabbing her wrists and pulling them down. No, she thinks. "No," she says, through water. The ripping of fabric -- her clothes, the expensive ones Josephine had ordered, being cut at the seams. 

"Don't," she says. She tries to summon a spell from somewhere inside her; it fizzles. Now that she's reached for it, she can feel the magebane pulsing in her blood. "Don't."

"Oh, that's sweet," one of the guards, the tallest one, the one who led her down here, says. "You ever had a cock in you before?"

She looks down; one of the men is keeping guard behind him. The other one has his cock out, teasing between her legs. she feels it brush against her entrance and she jerks wildly, trying to escape; the third guard has her arms in a vice grip and is laughing at her. 

"No," she begs. "No, no, please don't do this, please don't do this, please -- "

He groans in ecstasy and shoves into her cunt, dragging along her dry walls in agonizing friction. 

She screams; she doesn't know what else to do. It hurts so bad, like being destroyed with rot from the inside out, worse than her hand ever hurt, worse than anything has hurt. She kicks furiously at him but he grabs her neck, leans in close to her face so she can smell his rotten breath while he forces his way inside her. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he spits, through gritted teeth. "How's it feel to be fucked by a real man? Never gonna want to go back to pussy after this, are you? Gonna think about this every time instead."

No. She gasps out a sob. "Stop," she begs him. "Please stop, I can't."

"You can," he says. She feels something wet and hot gathering between her legs; she doesn't know if he's forced her to wetness or if it's her own blood slicking the way. "You will. Look at you. You're taking it so well. This is what Andraste made you for, you know."

Then he hits her. The pain explodes in her skull and her vision swims; she gags, feeling bile rise in her throat. He hits her again; her vision blurs. She blinks to try to bring the room back into focus but it just stays blurry, dark and smeared while she gapes her mouth open to search for enough air to keep breathing.

"Lemme have a turn before she passes out," the one standing watch says. She feels someone pull out of her and exhales, then what feels like a second later someone else pushes in. She sobs not of her own volition but feels it forced out of her from somewhere, a reflexive response. 

"Little dyke," he groans. He squeezes her breasts; she screams in pain again and he laughs like he's never been happier. "You ever get this treatment in the circle? They not do this to you enough, that why you ended up such a frigid little cunt?"

Her body is trying to shut down. She can feel it; it wants to save her. She fights against it as long as she can. She doesn't know what they'll do to her when she's asleep. 

"Don't worry," the one who was holding her says. He seeems to have realized she couldn't move her arms now if she wanted to, and he's let go of her to stroke himself in his clothes. "We'll give you the proper treatment for an uppity little mage bitch."

Then there's hands at her hips, lifting her like she weighs nothing and pulling her against the guard with horrible force, and with each jostle her head bounces against the mat until the drugs and the pain and the shock of it all finally drag her down into a blissful unconsciousness. 

She is down there for four hours. 

Cullen tells her this later, at her infirmary bed when she demands to know the details even though he looks sick trying to give them. They don't know how long it was between the ordeal ending and their finding her, but from how she was still bleeding sluggishly when they did, he thinks they didn't miss the guards who did it by much.

Trevelyan does not remember four hours, though. Trevelyan remembers minutes; seconds. She remembers waking up to being manouvered on top of someone, puppeted in a mockery of sex. She remembers choking on an elfroot potion they poured into her mouth when they were worried she'd really passed out, and feeling her body start to knit itself together even as they tore it apart again. She rememembers how they called her a stupid little whore and how this never would've happened if she had just done what she was made for and how she'll be hungry for cock forever now, how she'll never forget how good it felt while they raped her, better than any woman's ever done her. She remembers waking up having an orgasm and hearing them yell in ecstasy and she wanted nothing more then than to die.

She remembers near the end hearing one of them groaning and hips stuttering as they moved inside her. "Don't," she begs. "Don't come inside me, please, don't --"

She feels him fill her. Her head rolls to the side; she can't breathe. She's going to vomit. 

Another of them pushes his way into her where she's still slick with his friend's come. He fucks her too, empties into her cunt. The last one takes his time, stroking himself above her stomach first, but finally buries himself in her for his climax. 

"That should fill you up," one of them tells her. She can barely see. One of her eyes feels swollen shut; she doesn't remember being hit. "How's it feel, then, Herald? Being a real woman now?"

There is blood and come drying on her thighs. When she tries to sit, she vomits on the floor beside the mat. So she lays back down. She weakly pulls the ruined remnants of her clothing over herself, to cut through the chill. And she waits, without expectation, to die.

\---

There is a rumor going around Skyhold.

There is a rumor about the three men whose bodies hang decaying from the rookery. 

There is a rumor about the Herald's swelling belly and the rage that grows within. 

But the guards are careful, these days, about rumors.


End file.
